


Third Base

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Firefighter Dean Winchester, M/M, Massage Therapist Castiel, Mutual Pining, Sassy Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Dean's been injured on the job. Castiel's job is to help those in pain. Good thing they're on the same team...sort of.





	Third Base

**Author's Note:**

  * For [under_a_grey_cloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/gifts).



> For a regular reader who prefers Destiel and once said in a comment that she'd like to see a massage fic...

Dean was not a client. He was a friend. They had been friends for nearly four years. They both loved softball, and when Castiel's church played against Dean’s department, they always went out for beers after, to trash talk. Castiel wasn't good at trash talk. In fact, he was laughably bad at it. But he enjoyed making Dean grin, even at his own expense.

Beers after games soon became beers for other occasions. That opened them up to lunches, and even coffees. Dean called him to go to a minor league baseball game here and there, and Castiel called Dean when a band he liked came to town. Dean invited Castiel to a classic car show, and Castiel returned the favor by inviting Dean along when a movie they wanted to see opened up.

When Castiel got terribly sick with the flu, Dean came by daily to take his dog out and ended up staying to cook dinner. So when Dean got hurt at work, Castiel was eager to do his part in his friend’s recovery.

“I don't know, man.”

“Dean, this is what I do. You know what I do!”

Dean shrugged awkwardly. Then he winced.

“If it hurts when you just move your shoulder; you shouldn't even be questioning this. It'll help.”

His friend sighed. “I don't know,” he said again. “You don't think that would be weird?”

Castiel blinked at him. “Weird? Why? This is what I do for a living. Why is that weird?”

“Just...I never had one before.”

“So? You've probably never had an injury like this either. Come on. Athletes do it all the time.”

Dean snickered. “Yeah. Athletes also smack each other on the ass. Doesn't mean it's not weird.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're such a child. Seriously. It isn't weird.”

His friend grimaced as he lowered himself to the couch to sit. “I don't know,” he repeated. “Knowing your buddy is a masseuse, and him putting his hands on you are two different things.”

He bristled at the term. “I'm a massage therapist, Dean, not a masseur. I'm a licensed professional. And if you're too afraid to let me help you while you're in pain-”

“Whoa!” Dean shook his head, then seemed to regret even that movement. “Ouch,” he muttered in defeat.

“Too bad about that neck and back pain. If only you knew someone who could help relieve you of it. Alas, you are entirely at the mercy of your suffering.”

Green eyes glared up at him. “Oh, shut up. I'm not scared. Fine. If you think your muscle voodoo can help me get back to work faster, I'm all for it. Weird or not. Just let me...I gotta make a, uh, a phone call to my brother first.”

Castiel scowled. “I've got a decade of experience, jackass. Haven't lost a patient yet. No need to notify next of kin.”

This made Dean laugh, which clearly hurt, but still lit his face in a lovely way.

He sighed. Dean's laugh was a treasure. It didn't matter why he laughed. Castiel was just grateful to be left breathless in its wake.

***

“What's wrong with you? You sound like you can't catch a breath!”

Dean concentrated on inhaling slowly, but it didn't seem to help. “Dude. Cas…”

“Of course it's Cas. What happened now?”

“He…” He forced a deep breath, ignored the shooting pain in his back, and cleared his throat. “Sammy, he wants to give me a massage. Because I got torn up at work.”

Sam hesitated. “Fire department would probably pay for that,” he said carefully.

“Dude, you know that's not the issue!”

His brother sighed. “I know it isn't. Look, Cas is a professional, isn't he? I'm sure it was just an offer based on his...you know...professional opinion.”

“It don't matter what his intentions are!”

There was another pause now, then Sam spoke quietly. “Dean? Does this buddy of yours even know you're bisexual?”

“What? No! Nobody knows that! I'm a firefighter, Sam! You think the guys are gonna want to share a locker room with me if they know?”

“I think it wouldn't be as big a deal as you're afraid it would be.”

“I'm not afraid! Okay? The next guy that tells me I'm afraid, I'm gonna start throwing punches!”

Sam snorted. “Okay, Marty McFly. Settle down. This friend of yours is gay, though, right? I mean, round peg, round hole?”

“You're an ass.”

This was received with a bark of laughter. “Sorry. I'm just saying, maybe you can be yourself with this guy.”

“Sure. I'll just go in there, and I'll say, Cas, sure, I would love to have your amazing magic hands of healing all over me, but you should know first that I'm totally gay for you.”

“You could try that. I think I might word it differently.”

Dean clapped his hand over his face. “You are zero help. I regret every time I ever gave you help talking to girls.”

“Too late. I'm happily married, thank you.”

“Then put Amy on. Maybe she'll be useful.”

“She's already at work. I don't think you want to call the morgue to ask for help being afraid of a dude.”

Dean reminded him that he hated him. “Before I die of embarrassment in a few minutes, I'm taking you off my life insurance beneficiary list.”

“I'm in Human Resources, Dean. I'll just put myself back on.”

He sighed.

“Dude, this is ridiculous. You've been in love with him for freaking ever. Go tell him you'd love to have him give you a therapeutic massage, but you need him to know that you're attracted to him before he touches you intimately, regardless of the fact that it is completely professional and platonic.”

Dean lifted his head and blinked. “That's actually...helpful.”

“Don't sound shocked. You knew after I was done giving you a hard time, I'd be useful. That's why you still call me.”

“God, Sammy. What if he doesn't…”

Sam knew what he didn't want to say. “Yeah. But, Dean, what if he does? You really want to waste more time worrying if you could be starting an actual relationship with this guy instead? Maybe it works out. Maybe it doesn't. But you say you aren't afraid. Dude, you run into fires for a living. You got hurt in the first place because you were saving a mom and her kid from a car that nearly went off the side of that bridge! You're lucky you didn't get killed! You're Dean Winchester, man. You're not afraid of anything.”

“I'm afraid of this,” he breathed voicelessly.

His brother heaved a sigh. “I know. I know, but, Dean, you can't let it keep you from trying. I've never known you happier than when you are hanging out with Cas. He's a good guy. I don't know him real well, but the few times I've met him-Dean, he hangs on your every word! I can't believe he wouldn't be willing to take a chance, as long as you take this chance. It's been years, man. It's time. What would your captain say?”

Dean huffed out a weak laugh. “Stop dicking around and light this candle.”

“Never thought I'd say this, but maybe you should go with Gabe on this one. Light the candle, and see if catches.”

“Yeah. Well, Gabriel's a pyromaniac. I'm sure of it.”

“Dean.”

He heaved a sigh, and nodded against the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Who doesn't love getting their heart kicked in, right? No better time to break my never-rejected-by-a-dude streak than when I'm already on pain meds, huh?”

“You've never propositioned a dude.”

“Exactly.”

“Good luck, big brother. Call me later.”

“Yeah. So I can blame you for what's about to happen.”

“Pie and whiskey is on me,” he promised.

Dean closed his eyes, and hung up.

***

It was Dean, and that changed everything.

Castiel watched the dog lying in the sun in the fenced backyard, and tried to think of how relaxed the canine must be. Archie never complained about anything, unless Castiel forgot his breakfast for too long on a Saturday morning. Even then, it was just a small woof to remind him. He was the most laid back dog Castiel had ever known.

He was ninety-nine percent positive Dean was terrified of him.

A smile crept onto his face.

He continued preparing his massage therapy room, in case Dean didn't chicken out. “It's too gay for him,” he murmured to his planted flowering herbs in the windowsill. “Why do straight guys have to be afraid of everything? It's just a massage.”

But it wasn't. It was Dean, so it changed everything.

Castiel had provided massages for friends in the past, and clients had sometimes become friends. He was always able to separate the work from the friendship. It had never been a problem. Never.

But this was Dean.

“I probably shouldn't even be doing it,” he told the herbs, even as he cleaned the table meticulously. “I've never had any issues with ethics, but…”

But this was Dean.

Dean Winchester had been the stuff his dreams were borne from for years. How many nights had he lay awake, trying to think of an excuse to text or call him, just to interact with him? It was entirely stupid, because he was never going to share Castiel's interest. He had told himself a thousand times that every moment-every dream-spent with Dean was time he could be spending on someone else, someone he might have some chance with. But then he would think of Dean smiling, or laughing, or looking with suspicion at the dog, or flirting with a waitress, and it didn't seem to matter how stupid it really was, because Castiel was committed to going down with this ship.

He sighed, and stared at his oils and lotions. Even as he was wondering if cocoshea honey and almond milk would be pushing Dean’s fragile masculinity too far, he found himself thinking of the man's hard muscle relenting to Castiel's strong hands. Even as he settled on eucalyptus and white tea, he caught himself licking gently at his lips as he imagined Dean sighing softly with relief under Castiel's sure touch.

He swallowed hard. “I can't do this,” he realized suddenly. “I really can't do this.”

It was the first time he had ever doubted his own ability to remain entirely professional. This was different. It was Dean.

***

The smell of some kind of mint or something hit his nose upon returning to the house. He hoped Castiel hadn't gone to too much trouble already, considering Dean was about to destroy their whole friendship in one sentence.

Social awkwardness was not exactly new for his buddy. Dean smiled to himself as he thought of how many times he had referred to him as “a weird, nerdy little guy,” when what he meant was “an adorable, brilliant, endearing man who was impossible to not love.”

And hot. Definitely, seriously hot. Dean had seen the guy rip off his shirt to change after a softball game; and it had nearly burned Dean to the ground. He had tried all that night to focus on Anna Nicole, but it was a lost cause.

Softball. Right.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Cas?”

The narrowed blue eyes came from around the corner to melt him into a puddle of trembling anxiety. “Dean,” he murmured in that deep voice that had rumbled through Dean's chest the first time he had heard it. And every time since. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Um, let me...I need to say something first.” He took a deep breath and shoved forward. “Cas, look. We play for different teams, right?”

The blue eyes blinked at him. “Yes? I'm an Angel, and you're a Hunter. And there was that time you played backup for-”

“For-for the Demons, right, but that was just for half a season.”

“Not even half. Like three-”

“Cas, that isn't the point. I mean, that's the point, but it isn't the point of-I played for one team, usually, but when Crowley and the other EMTs needed a backup, I...played for the other team.”

Castiel was staring at him. “You hated that. You said Crowley wanted you to play second, when you belong at third. I've always thought you're a great catcher-”

“No, no!” He threw his hands up wildly. “No, I did that just one time, and it was really uncomfortable and awkward, and I don't want to talk about it!”

And now the eyes were narrowing again. “Dean, what pain meds did you say they put you on?”

“Not-That's not what I'm...Cas, I've played for the Hunters for years, and love it. Thought I'd always play for the Hunters. You know? And it's simpler. But then I met you, and I started, you know, thinking maybe the other teams don't look so bad.”

“Dean, you can't be an Angel unless you join the church, and you believe in God, but you're always pissed off at Him. You told me once you think of Him as a burned out novelist drinking Himself to death because His creations are so stupid. You said His name is probably something like Chuck.”

Dean shrugged and nodded a little. “I might have said something like-That's not what I'm getting at. I'm not trying to be an Angel. I like being a Hunter. But sometimes I see a player that makes me think, you know, that I could maybe play for another team for a while.”

“Crowley.”

“Exact-No! Not Crowley! You!”

Castiel's dark eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

“You know. Bottom of the ninth, you're the only guy on the bench, I'd rather have you.”

Castiel took a step back. “What? Dean, I'm first string. I pitch every game. I'm an excellent backup shortstop. And I'm a decent catcher. I'm rarely on the bench.”

“Nice to know you can catch, but-”

His friend threw his own hands up in a delayed mirror. “Dean, what are you even talking about? Bottom of the ninth, last guy on the bench-You make it sound like I'm literally your last choice for this imaginary fantasy softball league! That's so insulting! I've struck you out twice this season! If we were on the same team, you'd be more likely to have your ass on the bench than me! Why would I be your last choice?”

His head was swimming. Maybe the meds were messing him up after all. “I didn't mean that. I meant, I've tried the other things, and I like them, but I see what's still waiting on the bench-Forget it!”

“Well, it's hard to forget you saying I'd have to be the last guy available for you to take me! That just sums up our whole relationship, doesn't it?”

Dean was breathing shallowly now. He wasn't sure when this had turned into an argument.

Castiel was getting red in the face. He pointed a finger at him angrily. “Bottom of the ninth, you're desperate, and I'm the only friend you've got, and I promise you still wouldn't put me in, Coach! You've had a thousand chances over the years, but it doesn't matter, because you and I play the same damn position, so you've got no interest in me!”

The pounding in his head was muted compared to the suffering of his neck and back, which was nothing when compared to his heartache. Why hadn't he just let Castiel do the damn massage? “I don't know what we are even talking about anymore!” he admitted in exasperation.

“You said-”

“Forget what I said! Okay? Look, I'm not a freaking poet, okay? I'm a firefighter and a third baseman, and a brother, and-and-”

Castiel's hurt frown was killing him. “And an assbutt.”

Without warning, the tension exploded from Dean in a laugh. “God, you suck at trash talk, dude!” Then he gasped his breath in through his teeth as his back muscles refused to release him from an awkward position. “Oh, crap. Shit. Cas, oh, shit!”

In a blink, Castiel was leading him, half carrying him, to the massage table in the next room. “Screw it. Ethical or not. I'm no angel. Come on, that's it. I'm not going to just watch you hurt when I know exactly how to heal you, you big jackass.”

“God!”

Castiel was smirking as he flattened Dean out as well as he could. “Oh, now you believe in Him? He's probably off drinking. Hold still, and stop bitching.”

Pain shot through his entire body, and he groaned terribly. “Your bedside manner could use...some work!”

“Shut up. And I don't care how gay you think this is. I'm taking your shirt off, and I'm putting my gay hands on you. If it helps, you can scream no homo while I do it.”

Dean roared with agony, then bit into a whimper as Castiel made good on his threat. His shirt was yanked mercilessly up to his neck, and Castiel's strong hands attacked him. There was none of the sensuality Dean had fantasized about, none of the sexy teasing of his dreams. Castiel was brutal in his delivery.

Then it stopped.

The pain was entirely absent.

“How did you do that?” Dean whispered. He was afraid to speak up or move in case he awakened the angry muscle.

Castiel had his arms folded across his chest in a strangely defensive but smug manner, when Dean risked lifting his head to look. “I told you. You never listen, but I know what I'm doing. I'm good at what I do! I know how to target muscles causing that sort of pain.”

“You fixed this?”

“Dean, it's not broken!” he cried. “Unlike your delicate, easily offended heterosexuality, your muscles can be convinced to relax!”

There was silence between them, and Dean realized just how hurt his friend sounded. “Cas-”

“Don't sit up yet. You're going to be really sore, and your injury is still there, and you're still going to need-”

“Cas!”

The man took a gasping breath, and quieted, but Dean could hear the sob sticking in the back of his throat.

“God, Cas! Help me up!”

So strong arms lifted his heft off the table. There was the soreness, just as predicted, but it was nothing like the gripping muscle seizure from a moment before. Still, Castiel said nothing, and lowered his eyes, though not before Dean saw the sparkling in them.

His heart stung with guilt. “Cas, God, I'm so sorry. I don't know how I made you feel like this. Thank you for helping me, man. Really. I'm so sorry if I...I don't know what just happened between us.”

His friend sniffed, and stubbornly blinked past the tears to glare at him. “Nothing. Nothing happened between us. And nothing ever will. Dean, I'm happy to put you on my docket if you need more help with your injury. And you do need more help. Twelve seconds of therapy isn't going to solve anything permanently. But other than that...I think I need to spend some time alone for a while.”

Panic rose in him. He had managed to mess everything up, and he hadn't even gotten to say what he had been trying to say! “No! I mean, yeah, of course, but wait! Look, if I've already busted up our friendship somehow-and I don't really know how, because I'm not at all clear on what just happened, then-then I might as well tell you what I was going to say!”

“What? What do you want to say now? You expressed how weird you feel about me touching you, even just to heal you. You told me you would only choose me if you were desperate and I was the last man available to help. You went on about Crowley making you see softball differently, which I don't get, but whatever. And that doesn't begin to bring up how you go out of your way to put space between us whenever we go anywhere! I get it! You're creeped out that I'm gay! Well? I'm gay, you ass! It's not even close to the most important thing about me, but it is part of me, so if you can't handle it, you should probably tuck your heterosexuality between your legs and run away before you get any on you!”

“I'm bi!” The two syllables snapped out of his mouth before he could trap them in. He stared in horror at his own confession.

“You're by what?” Castiel shouted. Then he froze.

“Bi! Bisexual! I'm…” Dean lowered his own voice, and took a deep breath. “Cas, I'm bisexual.”

The man did not move.

Dean sighed. “Cas, I'm sorry, man. I had no idea that I come off that way, like I'm creeped out. I've just been trying to keep my distance because...because I like you, man! I like hanging out with you. And I don't want screw that up by admitting that-that I also like you. You know?”

There was another long silence.

He lowered his eyes finally. “And obviously that's exactly what I just did. Look. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Thank you. For whatever you did just now, thank you. I'll book myself an appointment with somebody else. You were right about what I needed. I really am sorry. I never wanted to…” His voice faded out as his throat tightened in emotion. Here it was. Here was the moment he had dreaded for so long. He had admitted his attraction to Castiel, and now he had to get to the door, get to the Impala before his heart shattered completely. It was all he could think of. He just wanted to be in his car before he broke down, before the storm of self-loathing and humiliation swirling in tears came flooding down his face. This was even worse than his worst nightmare scenario. Every time he had imagined Castiel rejecting him, he never considered that he would ever hurt his friend on his way out. It was even lower than he had ever imagined falling.

At last, the deep voice of his dreams spoke up hoarsely. “Dean, are you saying you like me? That you actually like me?”

“God, Cas,” he laughed with a taint of sadness. “I’ve liked you from minute one.”

Castiel's head tipped slightly to the side, and his eyes narrowed. “Minute one, you sent a line drive to my head.”

Dean cringed. “Okay, minute two. Minute two, all right? And that line drive didn't even bruise your hard head!”

“Because I caught it. The first time I kept you from first base.”

“Shut up! I've hit triples off your sorry fastballs!” He caught his words and slammed his mouth shut as he realized he was reverting to their usual banter.

But Castiel was beginning to smile. “Just to be clear. You like me.”

“Yeah, I…”

“Because I've liked you from minute two. When it occurred to you that you nearly took my head off, and you dropped the bat to run up to the mound and make sure I was okay, and all I could think was-”

“How great your eyes were, and how glad I was that I hadn't actually hurt you.” He couldn't help staring into those hypnotizing eyes now.

Castiel's smile widened with pleasure. “Something like that.”

Dean blinked. “I mean…I just noticed how blue your eyes were, and-and how handsome you are, and…”

Instead of an angry red, Castiel's face was now blooming in a delightful pink. “That's really gay, Dean.”

He meant to shove Castiel for teasing. He meant to snap back with something that would set his friend back on his heels. But when he moved forward, that isn't what happened at all.

***

Castiel could still feel Dean's first kiss over an hour later. Even as the man snored contentedly, face down in his massage table, Castiel couldn't stop licking his own lips to taste Dean's kiss. He had made up for his savagery from earlier by completing a full, targeted massage on Dean's back and neck. When he finished, and could see both relief and gratitude in Dean's face, as well as a little awe, Castiel had asked carefully for permission to continue. When Dean's eyes darkened with desire, it had made Castiel's heart pound.

His hands were strong but soft, and they were confident in their execution. The man's sighs were every bit as divine as he had hoped.

Dean's beautiful bare, freckled skin shone with oils, and his hard, toned arms made Castiel tremble inside while his steady hands glided across the thick muscle. He had felt Dean beneath his hands so many times in his own head, but actually touching him was making him lightheaded. He ventured across more and more territory, expecting Dean to tense in protest eventually, but his friend simply closed his eyes and sighed so heavily that it was nearly a moan. Castiel felt that sigh deep in his own body.

Getting Dean off with deft hands and an intense desire to please was no challenge. He felt more smug about the way Dean passed out right after than he had about striking him out two nights ago. Now he simply let his hands brush softly over skin, worshipping his Hunter while he watched over his rest, and dreamed about their future together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like, my reader under a grey cloud. Thanks for all the comments you've left along the way. 
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
